Big fire of trees in a wood with a smoke and a flame

We run
through the chicory
fields and pine needle forests,
flaming tongues reach
for Alpha Centauri and Orion,

witnesses to this evening’s
crime, it winds,
drives, screams

through herds and squirrels and
scrambling, hairless apes
too slow to heed
the nose-crinkling
heat and smoke,

brutal to any
house or fence or swimming pool,
boils, burns, chars
in equal measure despite

armies of firemen, planes
bombing rain on
forests emblazoned,

Still we run…

cough silk-smoke,
the fury, lungs seared,
legs stumble,
not ready to shake
that soundless mortal coil
to the fire,

not ready to offer the body
to this angry rage,
a shouting inferno, licking
fingers, hair, tender skin.

running…still.

by
Rod Carlos Rodriguez

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